


In the Street

by ainagren



Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: F/M, Misunderstanding, Psychology, Random Encounters, inner monologue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 19:06:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12871083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ainagren/pseuds/ainagren
Summary: Elaborating on the scene in s2.05 when Dwight and Caroline meet in the street after a year's absence.





	In the Street

_Dwight._ <> “I trust she is well.” 

He says it with all the constraint he can manage, but can’t help that a smile escapes him. George must have noticed, and his teasing remark is aimed where it hurts the most – a special announcement tonight, by Caroline Penvenen and Unwin Trevaunance. There can of course be no doubt as to the content of that announcement, and he swallows, manages his face and answers briefly that he doesn’t mind; 

“Not the slightest.” 

George knows, it seems, or has guessed; and if he has guessed, then half of Cornwall has, too. Dwight knows it, as he walks on from the sudden and very discomforting encounter with his best friend’s enemy. He never wanted to be a part of their conflict, but by the simple task of being Ross’ friend it seems he has become the opposite of George’s. Not that he cares, but it is unpleasant just the same. And now, George has set his soul in a dreadful state with his words. 

Caroline is back in town! It is as though his soul wants to part from his body, and his body is burning. His head is spinning, and he feels as if he is looking at the world around him through a blurry glass. The muddy grey and brown nuances of this dreadfully sorry little place suddenly seem to glisten of a secret light – she is here! His eyes are watering, but his mouth cannot restrain from smiling goofily. She is another man’s destiny, and he knows it, yet, her mere existence in the world gives it a lustre that only he can see. 

It has been a horrible year, he thinks as he is walking down the street, hardly even remembering where he is headed. The way she has haunted him, day and night. The way he has gone over, again and again, every detail of every moment spent together with her, memorising the oddest details of her appearance – she has lovely earlobes, perfect in shape, and her nostrils widen when she laughs, and the tips of her pinkie fingers are slightly tilted inwards. He has tried to force his mind to stay respectful and courteous when thinking about her, but the truth is, that he has kissed her in his mind so many times that he almost believes it has been real. _That day when he had thanked her for the oranges – no Unwin and no George came by, he reached out his hand to her waist, he pulled her towards him and – oh, her lips were honey and milk, sweetness beyond words. The day she left, and her carriage stopped on the road, she held her hat and looked at him with her eyes so full of sadness, and he didn’t just nod and watch her leave, no, he climbed the carriage, leaned in under the huge brim of her hat, and kissed her, fervently, passionately, and she stepped down from the carriage and took his hand and followed him to his cottage and …_

He has tried to stop himself, but a year is a long time to battle against a stronger enemy, and so he has succumbed, gradually, to the urge to visualise that which his emotions keep nagging him about – and how could he stop himself from wishing and wanting it when he knew that nothing would come of it anyway? It would never happen, so in a way it was safe. 

Only, now that he walks down the street in a haze, his heart pounding madly, he realises that the next time he will encounter her, it will be with all his fantasies in fresh memory, and he is ashamed. He is no gentleman, he has treated her ill, and he must take control of himself immediately. 

Suddenly, his eyes are hit with a colour so strong that it makes him jump, and his heart seems to skip a beat. His brain is tricking him, or is it…? Can it really be her? 

He stops, and watches the plume of her hat, the red fabric of her outfit, as she appears more and more clearly through the crowd. She has not yet noticed him, he can see it, and her head is turned to the side as she is walking with eager steps. All he is, is a vessel to collect whatever she bestows upon him, any little ray of light from her face, any little word or gesture. 

And so, finally, her eyes wander through the crowd and find him. His eyes are already shining like the concentrate of all stars in the universe, and now he smiles, he cannot help himself, he grins like a child on Christmas Day. 

She stops and greets him, the moment is unreal, she is finally here again – it is not a dream or one of his endless fantasies – she looks a little bit nervous and it gives him a jolt of hope, the same hope he felt that day about the oranges, that it might actually happen, that she, too, is – 

But he babbles, God forgive him; she has asked a question out of courtesy, to have something to say, and he elaborates, although he can see in her eyes that it is not interesting, so he looks away, wants to find a word or a place or a gesture that will let them talk as friends, as lovers, away with all pretence and games – 

And she answers, her smile as wry as ever, her voice as soft, but her words… oh, her words, how they sting! He can’t help it! And yet, he knows her. This is what she is, why does he take it to heart? Why does he care? And this is all she has got for him, this jesting, banter, teasing, making him look like a fool. After a year of kissing her daily in his mind, reality showers him like a bucket of icy water over his head, and his smile is washed away. Tongue-tied as ever around her, and bitterly so. Her words, teasing as they are, make it clear to him that this is all he ever was to her – a joke, a game, a distraction, a diversion. Tonight she will announce her upcoming wedding to that clown Trevaunance – if only it had been to a better man! – and all the things that Dwight has seen in her, all the hidden treasures of her eyes that he has gradually come to unfold, for every little bit growing more fascinated with the richness of love and true inner beauty that lie there, will not be for him to enjoy, and perhaps they will never be fully excavated at all – it’s a bittersweet revenge to think that he, Dwight, has been allowed to see something that Unwin will never see, nor ask for, not even care for. Stiffly, he takes his leave of her, she steps aside, her smile as smug as ever, completely unaware of the uproar within him that she has caused, and all that is left for him is to bite his jaw hard enough not let any bitterness slip out as hard words; he must hold up his shield of gentlemanliness and never again, never ever ever, allow his heart to run off with his mind like it has up till now. He walks away, all of his body protesting against the action, struggling to fight the magnetic force in him that tries to pull him back; but he disobeys, he takes the steering wheel and turns it around, and forces himself to take another course. He walks on, forgetful of where he is headed, and when he finally comes back to himself, he finds he has long passed the house he was about to visit. 

*** 

_Caroline._

She is wringing her hands as she walks, and her body is in pain. Her heart is pounding so hard it makes her nauseous, and the corset is pressing against her hips and her sides, making every step a plague, and stopping her from breathing; her lungs ache, but she is used to it and doesn’t care. 

So, here she is, again. The same town as yesterday, the same people blocking her way, the same grey houses and market tables and fish sellers and stench. Only she is not the same. The past day and night have been life altering, she knows it, and now there is no return. She wants none, either, but the way ahead of her, a road that has always seemed to her to be straight and narrow all the way to her grave, allowing no excursions or surprises, is suddenly unclear. 

Not that it has come upon her as a surprise; she has been searching for this new path for a long time, now. But it has surprised her, too, that she actually chose it. 

The announcement party last night had been a failure for everyone but herself. Of course she ought to have cancelled it before, to spare both Uncle Ray and Unwin the embarrassment. But it wasn’t until that very moment that she really knew. It was to be announced, and it would have sealed her fate. 

The encounter with Dr Enys earlier in the day had shaken her, deeper than she thought possible. Of course she had been there – here, in the same street as she is roaming right now – for the sole purpose of running in to him. He has been on her mind constantly for the past year, and she had to see him, once more, before – 

Her cheeks blush, not only from the exercise, but also from the memory of their short intercourse yesterday. What she had expected from it she does not know, only that the outcome did not meet with her anticipation. Rather, quite the contrary. She had been looking for him to give her some kind of answer as to what she ought to do, she wanted a good bye of some kind, perhaps, and she had had no clear strategy or goal, only the utter urge to see him before the announcement. 

But it is still not logical to her. If she had decided to accept Unwin, why was she so keen on seeing Dwight first? Did she nourish a childish wish that he would propose to her right there, in the street, and thus save her from making her own choice? Did she seek a confirmation that that which she had felt was not based upon a figment of her imagination, but was real, and that he, too, felt the same? But how could he have given her that, right there and then? So, what was it – did she want him to know that he was about to lose her forever if he didn’t take his chance? Perhaps, but it had turned out differently – it was _she_ who had realised that she was going to lose _him_ for ever, the emotion had struck her as a blow in her stomach when she saw his face growing dark and closed, as he had taken his leave of her and walked away. Why hadn’t she learnt by now that the things that always worked with other men never did so with him; that her teasing and bantering had almost the opposite effect on him than the one she had intended? And yet, she didn’t know any other way! How should she speak to him to make him stay? Instead of liberating her from him, making it easier to delve into her odious future with a man she finds ridiculous and controllable, he had made it even harder for her to accept her fate. 

And so she had found herself on the evening of the announcement party unable to go through with it. It was not a whim, but it was also not a calculated decision. It was something within her, her soul perhaps, if such a thing exists, that had forced her to have its way. 

And so, here she is again, roaming the same streets, even more distressed than the day before, even more unsure of what she is doing. All she knows is that she has to see him again, she has to talk to him, and she has to ask for his forgiveness. The things she has wished to see in his eyes were maybe never there at all, maybe they were merely the reflection of her own emotions. She is at sea, not knowing the direction of this path that she has chosen so hastily, but she can’t go back. 

But where is he? Her eyes are stinging from searching through the crowd of grey-coloured people, hardly daring to wink for the risk of missing him. 

Then, suddenly, she turns a corner, and her heart almost stops at the sight of him. She is lost, and desperate, and it is obvious that he is not happy to see her, but she has nothing to lose, all her fortune and her beauty and all the things that have always been to her advantage, now they are worth nothing, rather the opposite. She has to reach out to him through all of that and make him see her, even if it will cost her everything. He walks on, he doesn’t want to talk to her, she has offended him deeply, and she almost cries in front of him, her voice feeble as she says: 

“Let me apologise for my discourtesy the other day…”


End file.
